The Teenage Condition
by Night Strider
Summary: Kiyota finds out what Rukawa's up to underneath those silly phone heads; but his discovery is only a prelude of things to learn about the superstar rookie. What is it that Rukawa scuffles to conceal? Find out. RuKiyo.


The Teenage Condition

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: Kiyota finds out what Rukawa's up to underneath those silly phone heads; but his discovery is only a prelude of things to learn about the superstar rookie. What is it that Rukawa scuffles to conceal? Find out. RuKiyo.

A/N: One of my fave pairings in the world of fanfics. Read and enjoy. Dedicated to Hannah.

Chapter 1

He's swilling hot chocolate inside S coffee when someone strafes by the window outside...

Kiyota Nobunaga upsets the remainder of his drinks and scours to the cashier to pay his bills, bumping with the turbid chairs that clump on his way as if to bushwhack through the obstacles. With a splay effort even for a spry boy like him, digging his pockets for coins in a rush sure is a serious play. He finally manages to dump 2 bucks beside the counter, producing a rythmic clang that's cut short by the lithe fingers of the cashier girl. The girl whistles nonchalantly as she flips the coins to the register, totally irrespective of Kiyota's urgent gestures. This festers the boy slightly.

'Make it fast, miss. I think I saw somebody I know passing by outside. Wouldn't want to miss him.' Kiyota says in a hurried note. The girl halts whistling.

'Y-your ch-change is thi-thirty ssseven c-cents, sir. Th-thank you f-ff-o--'

'Thank you for coming, that's it. You're welcome.' Kiyota finishes, frowning involuntarily at the girl. He gathers the coins and briskly scrambles to his feet. What kind of a stipple assed employer would hire a stutterer for a cashier girl? Whistling for a greeting would make her words more intelligible than speaking in her normal course. If that's what normal sounds like. He wonders as he hoofs his way out of the exit pass.

He skims the crowd of rank and file with strident examination, expecting to spot the person he saw gliding by a few minutes before he zoomed out of the coffee shop. It's been a quarter month of winter; leaves have tumbled upon their branches as night arrives at its longest duration due to the imminent waxing of the autumn solstice. This is when the Earth starts to take on an acute gyration and shies away from the sun for at least a whole season before wallowing back to the right pace. Glacial sunlight sheds its sparkle above the Metropolis like a fleck of yellow universe in the fathomless density as indefinite forms of ice sheets crimp beneath one's soles to emit the cracking sounds of a biscuit being chewed on. Kiyota is donned in a fine line, munificent winter apparel; beige overcoat, soigne bootleg jeans, and a snazzy turtleneck top with mahogany muffler. He swings his head sideways to search the person; it seems almost impossible to identify him among the steaming cluster of people streaming by. He hurries to the left pavement to follow the person's direction as if to spoor an escaped hound without lead. He hastens up and switches to maximum speed, constantly banging against queues of bodies and successfully tussling his way out with a puissant shove. Despite the frigid air, he begins to perspire and pant heftily but his effort isn't in vain. A foot ahead of him is the person he has been trying to catch up with; an uncommonly tall bramble head.

If Kaede Rukawa has noticed that someone's been trailing after him, he didn't make a motion to detain him. With the usual brazen expression on his face he continues to sift through without interruption. Kiyota hobbles on with his loner pursuit until he overtakes the other lad.

'Shohoku boy, is that you?' Kiyota asks boldly, not stopping on his pointless perambulation.

The raven haired sourpuss stops alertly Shohoku? Sounds familiar... he thinks. Weeks of vacay only convey a temporary and exclusive amnesia on him. He is neatly slung with thick blue padded jacket and khaki pants and God knows what he has underneath; aside from the Sony head phones on his head, he wears no other appertenunce. The simplicity of his dapper look earns him precious quality though. Between his bent arm is a ball bag; he always has it around when strolling the city. He arrests an unruffled glance at Kiyota and twists his face in what must've been an artificial frown.

'Shoot. Don't remember?' Kiyota grumbles in a frustrated tone.

'I know you.' Rukawa replies coolly with the traditional indolent acknowledgement he can muster.

Of course Rukawa remembers. Isn't he the soidisant Superstar Rookie who blabs de trop flubdub even before he can get a bucket in? Didn't this boy give him enough hell in one of their matches? Isn't it he and his silly billy companions who introduced the word loss to his vocabulary? And at that particular instant some undercurrent began to surge up inside him; an arcane urge to challenge, to improve, and strangely, to feel...

'Of course you do.' Kiyota assures him. His eyes fall on Rukawa's round package. 'You're heading to the court, am I right? One on one?' He finishes with a fresh air of pomp.

Rukawa pauses an interlude and looks at his watch; 9:32 in the morning, too early for action.

'No.' He answers flatly, fanning the flames of the other's excitement.

Kiyota stares at him with difficulty; it's hard to look at Rukawa without hurting one's eyes. A dawning curiosity wells up on the nervy Kiyota which draws him blank on the spot. It's below Rukawa's touchstone to refuse a match; what the hell's wrong with him?

'What d'you mean 'no'?' Kiyota fizzles, quite taken aback. He's stunned as goddamn always when people disagree with his will.

'Not yes.' Rukawa says with distaste. His bawdy streak.

'Yes, I know. But why?' Kiyota asks brusquely as if he's been razzed by Rukawa's retort.

'Weather.'

Weather. Yes; the temperature's merciless enough to make people hate each other just as they pass by the streets. But why's Rukawa dragging a basketball with him to begin with? That makes the request exigible enough.

'Why's that ball with you then?' Kiyota expostulates, pointing his finger at the duffel bag.

'My business.' Rukawa answers curtly.

'What sort of business?' Kiyota insists; it isn't compelling his belief for sure. Sniff around bugaboo.

'Everything that's not yours.' Rukawa says with a pluck. With him, forget everything you know about courtesy.

Kiyota's word utterance dives in abeyance as he resigns himself to silence. Yeah, it's his business. It ain't my ball. A frilly air sparges stubbornly on them like balm on their faces. Each second threatens to be useless; moments are measured by the steady descent of snow on the niveous ground as it goes inches thicker on the Earth. Rukawa wheels around to desert Kiyota who then decides to seize the occasion.

'Maybe it'll warm down in an hour. Wouldn't wanna miss the moment. Let's wait and forget about that business, whatever that is.' Kiyota suggests.

'Got an errand to run.' Rukawa spats in injunction. But the other is more persistent than he avers.

'Busy boy, are you? I'll help you, then let's play. Deal?'' Kiyota offers.

'...' Rukawa holds his fire to look at the other crossly but,

'Okay. Come on, it's hell freezing in here; you may catch a cold.' Kiyota basks unexpectedly. He clasps his fingers around Rukawa's sinewy wrists and leads him under a canopied building, missing the noli me tangere glare that Rukawa throws loose at him.

'What's the errand, again?' He asks as they tick snow flakes off their clothing.

'Nothing.' Rukawa replies, quiescent as a splinter.

'Look, I haven't got all the time in the world; don't wind me up. Let's play and settle this. I ain't remaining the deutero-best rookie of Kanagawa without a fight. I mean, just for a challenge; play with me.' Kiyota forces compliance without the overweening tone he usually carries.

'Can't.' Rukawa says in his very characteristic monosyllable; he doesn't say anything else but the finality and indubitability of the tonic word tell the rest. He's not playing with him.

'Oh yes you can.' Kiyota snaps childishly. 'If you won't I'll follow you around.'

'Like hell you will, dog eat dog bastard.' Rukawa says with patent sarcasm and turns his back on Kiyota. He's aware of the subzero numbness of the atmosphere but his annoyance more than makes up for cold air as he feels his temperature rise by degrees; with an unbridled defiance, he guns away to the steno road without looking back. The other trails pronto behind him, squelching amount of graupels under his soles; at any moment he will have looked like an outre dastard only to follow Rukawa but what the hell; he can't defer this chance. Rukawa zooms inside the first door he finds (which occurs to be Popeye's Chicken) in Y mall and flops himself down a chair. Kiyota immediately plunks himself oppsite him without waiting to be asked; the other snipes a dour look at him as if to say, 'Beat it, sod.'

'You're goddamn right I ain't letting you off that easy.' Kiyota hisses mischievously and crosses his legs supermodel style.

Rukawa sighs sulkily and looks around. A guy in uniform with a pen and pad approaches them both.

'Welcome to the home of nautical chicken, sir. May I take your order?' The guy who turns out to be a waiter asks.

Nautical chicken my ass. What's that anyway? Rukawa muses.

'Sir, your order please?' Repeats the waiter with a seemingly apologetic smile.

Rukawa almost gapes at him; he happens to go inside a fastfood without the faintest hint of hunger. What's more, he's allergic to chickens, especially the unctuous ones. Whenever he eats a leg, rashes begin to form on his skin and itch like hell. He's gone as far as barging inside a forbidden place just to get rid of Kiyota.

'Uhmmm, a bucket of those crispy ones and double orders of mac salad, 2 pairs of hot tea, a box of biscuits good for eight and uhhh...a pair of large fries, please.' Kiyota chimes in before Rukawa can say shut up.

'That's it, sir?'

'Yes.'

The waiter slides away. Kiyota doffs his trench coat and hangs it on the back of his chair. He folds his arms across his chest and locks his eyes on Rukawa with a look of plain turpitude.

'Do stick around, Shohoku boy; we've got plenty of snacks to swive. And after that, don't expect me to slack around; you're going to give me a nice spare time.' Kiyota says with obvious malice.  
'Do'aho.' replies Rukawa, looking daggers.

'Quit being a quidnunc sonuvabitch, Rukawa. I'm treating you to a decent meal here. Do me a favor and stop being a goddamn snoot.' Kiyota almost hollers. 'Getting friendly with you is the next thing to suicide if you should know.' He finishes as his temper shoots through the roof.

At that, Rukawa learns Kiyota has him under lock and key.

TBC 


End file.
